


calefaction

by bijou (mar_b)



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: 5.3 spoilers, Choking, F/M, Heatfic, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), POV Second Person, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, and then the usual smut mechs, can be seen as a little rough, pretty detailed bj, that's it - thats the fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-30
Updated: 2020-09-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 03:07:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,904
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26738590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mar_b/pseuds/bijou
Summary: Amidst your expedition into the Rak'Tika Greatwoods, biology wreaks havoc on your body and you are ill-prepared.
Relationships: Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Reader, Solus zos Galvus | Emet-Selch/Warrior of Light
Comments: 5
Kudos: 122





	calefaction

You  _ run _ .

As fast as your legs can take you, out of Fanow and into the cover of trees gifted to you by the Rak’Tika Greatwoods, without so much as a word to anyone. Smells become sharper, pupils spread wider, and you pray to the Twelve that you can put distance between yourself and any other humanoid being during this embarrassing time. 

You’re such a fool. Fool. Fool.  _ Fool. _ The expedition into Rak’Tika had taken longer than expected and you should have known to bring extra to suppress this, but you didn’t. And now, there’s a heaving in your chest, a yearn to fill a void, and a hunger that’ll break down inhibitions the longer it goes on. 

You lean against the trunk of a stout tree, easily five times your width, and hold yourself steady to catch your breath with fingernails _ claws _ dug into the bark. 

Your thoughts wander and you wonder if it might’ve been easier to ask… one of the Scions to put you out of your misery. You lick your lips. Urianger’s new garbs doesn’t make him look half bad and if you could just put a sock in -

_ No.  _

Perhaps, Thancred… Y’shtola would understand your plight, your  _ need _ . Or both!

You shake your head and measure your breath. Closing your eyes, you try to ground yourself in your other senses: smelling the foliage, the earth; feeling the cool breeze weaving through the forest; hearing the rustle of the leaves and the chirp of birds and - your brow furrows and head tilts - the opening of a portal? 

A gasp escapes you as your eyes open. There’s trepidation as your heart plunges and elsewhere in you, excitement stirs because  _ he  _ comes to mind. 

The telltale sound of leaves and grass crunching underfoot confirms your suspicion. Then comes the scent of dark aether, of silk and finery, and an indistinguishable male musk. You stagger and slap a hand to your nose in a feeble attempt to block it all. 

“Oh, Hero?” He calls melodically. 

You pivot around the tree. Your mind is too clouded to remember if it’s futile or if Ascians had the unfortunate ability to detect you. And yet, he comes towards you without any sign of confirmation that he’s found you, but if you dared to move, it would certainly give you away. 

You begin to  _ taste _ his scent and suddenly, you want nothing more than to run your tongue across his skin, taste his lips, his sex. You are still at the horror of the thought and how enticing it sounds. Your body battles with your mind, it fucks with your senses, and you could cry from the despair as his footsteps near. 

Nasally, you exclaim, “Don’t come any closer, Emet-Selch!” 

You hear him stop and your eyes dart nervously as you wait to hear another sound. 

“Has something happened..? Your voice is distinctly different. And  _ oh, _ everyone is so worried that you left without a word-” 

You turn towards the direction of his voice. “Everything’s fine!” you reassure him, just as nasally as before. “Please go and tell everyone that I’ll be back before long.” 

“Do you take me for a messenger boy?” 

You jump, startled, because the voice is ilms behind you. 

“I think not.” As you turn to face him, your wrists are grabbed by his hands as hooded eyes begin to scrutinize you. “Now, let’s see what ails you…” You hold your breath, but your brow quivers occasionally from his warm touch - your thighs rub together just slightly. You do rationalize this is a losing battle, but every rational part left of you wants to believe you have more control than this. “You’re fevered, Warrior.” The back of his hand touches your forehead.

You turn away from it. With what little breath you have, you tell him, “Please… just let me go… leave me.” 

“You aren’t breathing. Why aren’t you breathing?” You almost sigh, but you know better. He lets go of your wrist and grips the underside of your jaw, placing you between himself and the tree, and it knocks some breath out of you. You look up because of how he holds you and he stares down at you with a dark smile on his lips and a knowing look. “Breathe.” 

You obey, inhaling slowly through your nose, and time slows.

_ Traitor _ , you scold yourself. __

Gone is the scent of cedarwood and the earthy notes of the forest. The first inhalation is quickly followed by another, then another, in freefall -  _ you _ freefall. Your legs buckle and stumble forward. You land in Emet-Selch’s arms.

You bury yourself into the fur of his coat, inhaling his intoxicating scent. There’s the initial soft note of the cotton he wears, the worn leather of his boots, the faint tang of salt that always lingers around mortal bodies. It’s been a long time since you’ve had to deal with the extraneous details that come with heats but even without the assistance of suppressors on the regular you doubt you could have been prepared for  _ this _ . It’s unlike anything you have experienced before. Primal. Carnal. Dark. Aether seems to curl around him like a second skin. He’s like a favorite food you’ve never tasted before, the nostalgia of something new. 

He hums. “Are you in heat, little kitten?” 

You nuzzle his neck with your nose, nodding. “Leave me here, Ascian,” you say breathlessly. “Pay no attention to this and forget you ever saw me like this.” You exhale slowly as your hands explore under his coats. 

A grumble or growl rumbles from his throat but you feel vibrations from his throat; you can’t tell because you’re too busy searching through the layers for the skin of his torso. He chuckles softly. “But the Warrior of Light is in  _ need.”  _ His hands hook behind your bent knees and hauls you into his lap. You gasp and bite your lip because the one of last slivers of self-control stopped you from tasting his neck. “And I happen to be in a generous mood.” 

You halt all movement. Your mind, now decided on what will happen between the two of you, makes one last effort to save your own ego. 

You  _ laugh. _ Small giggles at first, then chuckles, until you pull back and look into his perplexed golden eyes. You may be in a vulnerable position, compromised by your biology, but you won’t suffer his superiority on this. Your hands work with the ties and buttons from the front of his pesky regalia. You say: “Generous?” Your shoulders bounce from one last chuckle. “Generous would be relieving this from me unconventionally. Generous would be getting suppressors for this so I wouldn’t suffer or embarass myself.” At last, the final layer of a white shirt. “No, Emet-Selch, I’m sure there are many Miqo’te in heat on this shard or the others that you could lend a hand to, but the fact of the matter is: 

“You just want to lay with this one.” 

There’s a quiet you don’t realize because you reach the end of unbuttoning him while absent-mindedly squirming with your hips. Part of you hopes Emet-Selch do what Ascians do and soliloquy this heat away because of your egregious claims. Another prays you can just ride him and be done with it. The majority desires him; you want to bathe in his scent, smell it for days, and ache because of him. You feel you might’ve won because of the growing bulge in his pants just as you get to the bottom. 

Emet-Selch brusquely pushes you off him. He stands and the sight of him in this state of undress makes you rub your thighs together in hopes some pressure will be relieved; it’s all you can do short of touching yourself, but your mind is slow to remember how. He looks down his nose on you; something about that cold stare stirs what is already shaken in you. 

If you had the clarity to guess, you’d say it’s because that cold stare isn’t as it seems, it’s his attempt at restraint. Or the way his hands are stiff and slightly twitching or other quirks that are uncharacteristic of his kin, like his silence.

“Emboldened, are you?” 

You nod slowly as you enjoy the way your fingers feel through your hair, and gratuitously hum, “Mm-hmm.” What a sight you must’ve been: Warrior of Light and Darkness reduced to her carnal desires, blushing and ripe on the forest floor of the Greatwoods. 

As the heat wholly settles in your body, your pupils dilate and your breath deepens as if you were drugged. His hands reach towards you and you gasp as he clutches the front of your top. 

“Very well. On your knees, hero.”

Your head sits at a perfect height to inhale the pheromones you crave, and to imagine the promise of his seed just beneath a pair of trousers. Hands and fingers spread out on his inner thigh, lifting higher until you find your prize - not quite ready, but you’re confident that can change. He does you the favor of unfastening the belts while you watch with fascination and idle anticipation, from the way he digs into his pants and to the moment he rewards you with the sight of his half-hard member 

You become aware of the wetness of your mouth as if you’re salivating and so eager to hear the sound of his pleasure that your nipples become acutely erect at the thought. And yet, you approach slowly without instruction. With both hands flat against either of his thighs, your tongue guides his cock into your mouth. Inside, you circle the tip until you take all of him and you work your tongue on the underside to stroke his length to full hardness. Still you take your time; you enjoy the sensation of sucking his dick getting properly on your knees and gripping his hips. 

Had you the wherewithal to notice more of your surroundings, you’d hear the slight grunts that erupt from his throat and that he’s still restraining for a reason you’d be unsure of even if you were sober.

When he’s stimulated with more length, you open your throat to take him further. Your eyes close, moaning at the way he fits through your lips and fills your mouth. It’s then you start bobbing your head a little faster, because you want him to fuck your throat, to choke on his dick. You stretch your tongue out of your mouth to allow his girth more access to do so, offering little vibrations with your muffled moans. 

He bends towards you and you think it’s to better fuck your face and not because Emet-Selch’s legs slightly falter from the pleasure and he needs the tree behind you hold himself steady. He even whispers “fuck” and groans for you that you’d hear if you weren’t busy. 

With each deep throat, you hold him there and explore the base of his cock with your tongue. Saliva escapes from the corner of your mouth, travelling down to your jaw and down the side of your neck. This eventually earns you a growl you  _ do _ hear and his fingers through your hair and tugs it. You lose the control over the pace, however, as he finally moves his hips in sync with control of your head to properly fuck your face. There’s no complaint from you; on the contrary, you relish that you can now concentrate on savoring and gagging on him. The sounds you make are so unbecoming that he silences you by thrusting his dick so far down your throat that the walls pulse around him. You feel him twitch. You can’t breathe. Distantly, you feel his nails dig into your scalp even with his gloves. He does this a few times and your cunt grows wetter each time. Your eyes open to look at him during this, but he doesn’t notice. His eyes are shut, his bangs hanging freely on the sides of his face, and he is flushed, bent over you and jaw clenched.

Emet-Selch pulls at your hair - hard - when he cums deep in your throat. You almost whine at the missed opportunity of tasting his Ascian essence but he spills enough as he’s pulling out of your mouth. Fingers dig into his hips to keep him there for a moment longer, hoping to work every last bit of his orgasm out of his cock. A gloved hand pushes your forehead without elegance in order to release him. 

You fall on your ass at the base of the tree, slightly disoriented. His taste is deliciously present on your lips, tongue, throat. Giddiness bubbles through you and it manifests into short fits of giggles. “How long?” you say, but it feels more like someone else speaking for you. 

Emet-Selch lifts you from the ground you immediately yearn to meld into him, hands reach for his exposed chest, but he pushes you against the selfsame tree that’s been your main audience this entire time. He grabs one of your thighs and holds it against his hip, hitching up your skirt. The look on his face clues you in that he’s driven by lust and carnal appetite almost as much as you are except his isn’t a biological response. A lazy smirk splits your face and you repeat yourself: “How long?” 

“How long,  _ what?” _ He responds, indignation present in tone and expression as he hooks your small clothes to the side. 

“How long -  _ mmph - _ have you wanted this, wanted me?” 

Emet-Selch looks at you directly and beads of sweat gleam off his forehead, cheeks flushed. You lick your lips, especially for the way he tries not to wince from when you move your wet heat against the length of his cock. He cedes with a slight lift to the corner of his lip.

He drops the leg that was hooked on his hip and turns you around, lifting your skirt and repeating the same process with your smallclothes. You feel him right where you want him and you try to push yourself on him but he has irritating two hands on your hips stopping you.

Any taunt you had on your tongue is forgotten and lost and he pushes into you, splitting through you. Your nails dig and your cheek is flat against the bark as you moan from the stretch, from the pleasure and address to this godforsaken heat. You mouth “oh, fuck.”. You see stars. Lights. The whole kit and caboodle. You sigh as he pulls out and rejoice when he returns inside you. You sing to the Rak’tika Greatwoods from this ordeal and can’t get enough of the sensation, especially as he picks up speed. The tension invades every muscle of your body and you think you could die here and now happily, just to feel this over and over again. 

And then he stops. 

Your eyes open too late to know the reason. He yanks the back of your collar and the forest floor meets your back again. Kneeling, he towers over you and relieves you of your underwear, tossed to be forgotten, and you take advantage of the moment to fondle your own breast over your shirt. While you would have been content with that, he opts to yank the buttons of your shirt and you're much more satisfied with this. The texture of his gloves deliver small put appreciated waves of pleasure as he palms your bosom, squeezing a pert nipple in between his two fingers. 

He thrusts into you once more and while the build up from before is gone, you still whimper from his presence inside you.

“That’s quite enough,” he says, strained. Before you have a moment to understand what he means, his hand grabs your throat; index finger and thumb pressing down on the sides as he picks up pace with each snap of his hips. Both your hands clutch his forearm, but the grip around his forearm loosens as you tighten viciously around cock. Your open mouth squeaks breathlessly. Your lightheadedness and the sensation of getting relentlessly fucked has you think of nothing else. There is nothing else. Only the tension that builds in the flex in your thighs and mounting pressure everywhere else.

It snaps. 

It hits you like a wave, unlike the crashing on a shore, but unnatural like the burst of a dam. You cum all over his cock and your moan, had it not been inhibited, would have been louder and more vocal than you will be willing to admit in the future. 

Emet-Selch hums, He grasps either side of your hips and fucks you without abandon disallowing any attempt for your body to recover. Again, there is nothing more you can think of except finding purchase on the grass and leaves underneath or biting a knuckle from the pleasure he gives you. His last few thrusts aim to reach deeper into you and it makes you orgasm before he does. He groans through clenched teeth. Your nails dig into his clothes as he fills you, throbbing inside you.

Your chest heaves. Your skin is damp and you both are flushed messes. Still inside you, he bends over and still you reach to touch his exposed chest, but his goal was to whisper to you: “Far longer than you realize, Azem.” 

He snaps his fingers and you won’t remember what he said.

**Author's Note:**

> join the bookclub and spam encouragement for others :D https://discord.gg/w4Vkdd7X


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